I couldn’t feel my hand.

Not because Adrian had held it too tightly, but because even after he let go, the warmth lingered. Like his touch had branded me, leaving me acutely aware of every nerve in my body.

Clara was practically glowing across the table, her grin so wide I wanted to reach over and stuff a napkin in her mouth.

“Well,” she said sweetly, “don’t let us keep you from your coffee, Adrian.”

Adrian’s eyes flicked to her briefly before settling back on me. “Actually,” he said, voice low and smooth, “I was wondering if I could join you.”

My brain short-circuited.

He wanted to sit with us? With me?

Before I could muster a response, Clara clapped her hands together. “Of course! Take a seat.”

I shot her another death glare, but it was too late—Adrian was already sliding into the chair next to me. Too close. His cologne drifted over, subtle but intoxicating, the kind of scent that made your knees weak before you even realized what hit you.

I stared at my latte like it could save me.

“So,” Adrian said, resting his arm casually on the back of my chair, his posture relaxed but his gaze razor-sharp. “Mia. What do you do?”

My tongue tripped over itself. “I—uh—I sketch. And… sometimes design things.”

“Design?” His interest piqued instantly. “Like fashion?”

“Sometimes.” I tried not to squirm under his attention. “Mostly little things. Nothing serious.”

Clara snorted. “Nothing serious? Please. She’s being modest. She could sketch a paper bag and make it look like couture.”

Heat rushed to my cheeks. “Clara—”

Adrian’s lips curved, slow and deliberate. “So she’s talented and modest. Dangerous combination.”

The way he said it made my chest tighten. I should’ve brushed it off, laughed, something. But instead, I found myself staring at him again—at the way his eyes seemed to catch the light, at the faint smile tugging his lips like he knew exactly what kind of chaos he was causing inside me.

Clara’s phone buzzed loudly on the table, and she snatched it up. “Shoot, I have to take this. You two behave.” She winked at me before slipping away, leaving me stranded in Adrian’s presence.

I gripped my cup, desperate for something to do with my hands. “You don’t really know me,” I blurted, instantly regretting it.

Adrian tilted his head. “Not yet.”

Not yet. Two words that shouldn’t have sounded so dangerous, so promising, all at once.

I tried to laugh it off. “You’re very… direct.”

“Life’s too short for anything else.” His gaze lingered on me, softer now but no less intense. “Besides, when something—or someone—catches your attention, why waste time pretending otherwise?”

My throat went dry. “Is that… how you usually talk to women in cafés?”

He chuckled, low and warm, leaning back in his chair. “Only the ones who make me forget what I came here for.”

My heart did a somersault. I looked down at my notebook, desperate to ground myself. My messy sketches stared back at me, meaningless lines and shapes compared to the weight of his gaze.

“You don’t scare easily, do you?” I asked before I could stop myself.

Adrian’s smile deepened, slow and knowing. “You’d be surprised.”

There it was again—that flicker of mystery, like there was more to him than charming words and a dangerous smile. Something heavier. Something hidden.

Before I could push further, Clara returned, slipping back into her seat with a grin that told me she’d noticed the charged silence she’d left us in.

“Miss me?” she teased.

I glared at her. Adrian, however, leaned back in his chair, still watching me like I was the most fascinating puzzle in the room.

And in that moment, I realized something terrifying.

The way he looked at me—it wasn’t just attraction.

It was recognition.

Like he’d been waiting for me all along.